Chapter Text
💋
“Guys, come on!”
Carson leaned back against the pair of hands pushing into her shoulder blades, her heels catching on the threshold to the mostly discreet entrance of ‘Diamond’.
“It’ll be fine, Carson! Come have a few drinks to celebrate!” Lupe slid around her and took one of her hands, pulling Carson through the door he bumped open with a bony hip while Jess gave Carson a shove from behind. She fell through the door, nearly landing in the lap of a woman leaning seductively in her seat on the other side, a smirk on her painted, glittery lips framed by an awful black wig. She looked like artwork, demure and unamused, like the smile she granted Carson had broken through white marble.
The tiny entrance to the elevator that would take them all up to the club on the third floor was barely big enough for Carson and her companions, but she was still careful not to touch the crossed legs of the beautiful woman. Mostly out of polite respect, but also because she’d probably be thrown out, with Carson’s luck.
“Looks like the party has arrived,” the woman purred down at Carson with a charming scrunch of her nose.
“Ah...” Carson blinked, trying to right herself.
“Hell yeah, it has!” Lupe crowed, stabbing the button of the elevator, the painted plastic worn and smooth. Still, Carson stared at the lady in the chair who licked her teeth, bit her tongue.
“Sorry.”
The woman winked. “I forgive you.” She cleared her throat and looked to the door behind the party, shrugged a shoulder in dismissal. The cracks in the marble filled and faded, until cool indifference remained.
A hand gripped Carson’s shoulder and yanked her into the elevator that smelled like cheap perfume and beer. Carson had to sharply scoot her foot inside before it got caught in the door. Jess’ hands on Carson's shoulders gave her a shake as the lift lurched upwards with a concerning, high-pitched squeal.
“First round is on you, Scruff.”
“So you two chose a lesbian strip club for my new job, and I’m the one buying drinks?”
Lupe grinned, thrusting his hands into his pockets. “Yeah! Don’t worry, we’ve got a nice surprise planned for you.”
That did nothing to ease the knot in Carson’s stomach. The loud bass that had thumped heavily from outside the dirty building became louder as they rose and shuddered to a stop; the doors opened and Carson was hit with a wave of smoke, crowded - mostly female presenting - bodies and voices yelling over each other in a pulsating darkness, clinging to life with flashes of colour like a heartbeat.
Fucking hell, what had she gotten herself into now?
Fortunately the worst of the chaos seemed concentrated near the entrance. Once they paid and were IDed, Carson clung to the tail of Jess’ oversized shirt and allowed herself to be dragged through the throng of sweating, gyrating bodies pressed against the bar and towards the seats near the stage.
It wasn’t so bad once Carson settled into a vaguely cushioned, cupped seat around a tiny round bench, low enough to be a coffee table. Lupe disappeared into the crowd with Carson’s credit card to get the first round of beers that Carson apparently agreed to cover.
She tried to be cool about the scantily, and also enticingly, dressed woman on the stage. A blonde with a tiny blue shirt that had been chopped below her large breasts and the remains of a pair of jeans that were no more than the waistline and pockets. She was almost a caricature of Rosie the Riveter.
Carson wasn’t sure how to feel.
Carson admired women. Could appreciate their forms, their figures. The idea of being with one, intimately, didn't disgust her or feel off-putting. But she was raised to find a decent man to marry, which she had done. She loved Charlie and he was nice enough. But it didn’t stop her mind from questioning late at night, when Charlie was above her or sweetly touching her. Her mind wondered.
It imagined and it craved.
But she’d never say any of this out loud. That would make it true.
So she breathed a sigh of relief when the dancer finished her show and left the stage. Even better, Lu returned with three pints held together in a triangle, cradled in his long fingers.
'Strap yourselves in! Drinks half price for the next hour and by popular demand, Ruby will return for an encore in a few moments time!'
The whoops and whistles nearly drowned Lu out, “Cheers Scruff! It’s gonna be a bit pricey on your bank statement, but I paid for an extra little treat while I was up there.”
“What does that even mean!” Carson frowned, throwing open her hands and hitting a man’s leg; he didn’t notice and her hand was soon full of a cold, wet glass of beer.
This was supposed to be her night. She finally got the call that she had been given classes to teach at University of Chicago while she and her co-workers - okay, friends - were at a conference in New York. The application process had taken six months, two full-day in-person interviews, and what felt like a thousand years of waiting to hear back, but she was now officially an assistant professor on the tenure track at Chicago. So they’d hauled her out to celebrate and thus far it wasn’t anywhere near what Carson would have planned for herself. She should be celebrating with Charlie. Although it was a pleasant reprieve from the hours of socialisation, shaking hands and introductions, offering business cards - some of which remained in her pocket - and LinkedIn connections.
Lupe snickered and elbowed Jess in the ribs, pointed his beer at the chair being lazily dragged across the stage by Rosie the Riveter before she disappeared again.
“For one final dance, please, give some love to one of our favourites: Ruby!”
The roar around them was deafening, it made Carson press her knuckles to her ears to muffle the sound.
The crowd seemed to creep in towards the stage like the tide, slow but constant and unstoppable as the lights dimmed. A piano riff beckoned Carson’s attention to an immaculate drag queen in the corner for a moment, before the crowd erupted as a long leg curled between the red velvet curtain through which the last dancer disappeared.
Carson’s jaw fell open when a woman- no! The woman from the front door! She had changed, the wig now gone and replaced with unnaturally bright red curls, her figure raised on tall silver heels as she smoothly crept onto the long stage, the backs of her fingers flicking her hair up, without dislodging the velvet fedora. Black nylons smoothed her legs to unnatural perfection, disappearing into a red and black corset. She sidestepped the pole; she had no need for it.
She was enough alone.
Holy shit.
The wave of arousal that washed over Carson heated her skin, shortened her breath.
She was transfixed as the redhead- Ruby, moved around the chair, her body fluid and putting the most vivid, erotic images in Carson’s head. Ruby revelled in the sway of the crowd, in their rapt attention and the slamming beat of the rising music. She had no shame in her body, the confidence that she was giving her audience what they wanted was clear.
Her hands... fuck, her hands. They moved over her own body as if she admired what it could do. Like she actually loved to dance. Like it mattered to her.
Carson nearly jumped clear of her seat when a large man clad head to toe in black stepped into her line of sight.
“You’re up!”
“I’m what?”
Beside Carson, Jess and Lupe leaned into each other, cackling loudly and sloshed their beer, spilling it on the floor. Jess plucked Carson’s barely touched drink from her hand.
“Go! Have fun!”
Carson didn’t know what to do when the man she realised was security took her hand and pulled her to the end of the stage where a set of steep, boxy stairs hugged the edge.
She wasn’t sure whether she should be watching her feet or Ruby, whose long legs were carrying her towards Carson as she was ushered up the stairs.
Fuck fuck fuck!
Long fingers gripped the lapel of her worn leather jacket and Carson finally looked the woman in the eye.
Huh, that looked like her real hair. Maybe not the colour-
“What’s your name?” Carson didn’t know where to put her hands as Ruby walked her back towards the chair.
Did Lupe buy her a fucking lap dance?! She was going to kill him! But at the same time, that wasn’t really Ruby’s fault.
“Um- Uh... Carson.”
“What do you do?”
“Uh, I teach... at a university.”
Ruby’s lips puckered, her eyes impressed as she suddenly- Geez! She dropped into a wide squat at Carson’s feet before sliding back up Carson’s body.
“You must be smart.” The casualness of Ruby’s conversation was a mind-boggling juxtaposition to the seductive movement of her body against Carson.
“Just educated. Everyone is smart at something, if they have drive and opportunity.”
“Hmm... Ever had a dance before?” Carson shook her head so hard her hair caught on her own nose, which was enough invitation for Ruby to run her fingers through it. “It’s your lucky day then. Can I touch you?”
“Um- I guess. Yeah.”
Ruby curled an eyebrow and whispered into her ear as she guided Carson to turn around, “I need a firm yes or no.”
Carson swallowed thickly.
She had already paid for it, hadn’t she? And it would be rude.
And maybe... Yes, Carson did want to have one moment in which it was okay to feed her night time imagination. Not that she’d ever tell anybody.
“Yes.”
And with that, Carson was promptly pushed down onto the chair, heralded by the positively delighted screeches of the crowd around them. Carson gripped the seat under her and tried to follow the dancer as she moved behind her. She flinched as hands slid over her shoulders and down the outside of her breasts, her nipples tightening at the teasing brush of Ruby’s thumbs.
“You’re okay,” again the woman whispered, and Carson did her best to relax. It wasn’t discomfort that had Carson on edge: it was an unexpected desire.
A long, stockinged leg and heel suddenly swung over her lap and Carson’s vision was consumed by a line of cleavage, of smooth skin and- and... a very beautiful face. A face that hid boredom behind kind eyes and a tongue that wet smiling, red lips.
The weight in her lap pushed her into the chair, but still Carson gripped it at her sides.
“It’s okay to touch me.”
But... Carson didn’t feel the need to? Sure, Ruby was probably desensitised to groping hands taking liberties with her body, but Carson had no desire to do that. Not like this. But she did like to watch.
“I want... keep dancing. You’re a good dancer.”
A line in the façade cracked again. A smile that seemed genuine to Carson glistened from above. “Thank you.”
And so Ruby danced.
Her movement less explicitly intended to gain a physical response from Carson, although Ruby did tease her and Carson let herself lean into the woman, to feel the pull of allure. But Ruby danced only enough to entertain the crowd, to keep Carson part of the show. She danced more for herself.
She had very little clothing to discard, but it didn’t stop Ruby from slowly teasing the clips of her corset, leaning in and ripping her corset open inches from Carson’s face on a particularly loud musical beat, before scooping it behind Carson’s head. Carson had never had her nose pressed into a woman’s cleavage before, but first time for everything.
She didn’t hate it.
Carson had no clue when the fedora ended up on her own head.
And yes, every time Ruby crawled to the edge of the stage, she returned with folded and curled bills tucked into the straps of her heels, into the cups of her strapless top, the side of her underwear. But the paper clung to her as if she didn’t care if it was there.
It was incredible.
Carson was sure she was going to pass out and her mouth was definitely hanging agape when Ruby fell to her knees at Carson’s feet, leaned far back onto her heels with undulating, slow thrusts of her hips. Ruby's hands trailed atop her breasts, together down the line of her amazingly flat stomach, pressed hard int- oh fuck.
All while holding Carson’s gaze.
She nearly choked on her own tongue.
Carson didn’t actually expect for Ruby to return to her lap, but surely her time on stage was winding down. She didn’t even mind the sweat on Ruby’s skin, the hot breath on her face. Ruby’s hair fell around them as the dancer loomed above her, high in Carson’s lap.
“Do you want to touch me, Carson?”
“Um- I... I have a husband.”
“That’s not what I asked...” Carson’s middle tightened, although she wasn’t sure if it was lust, or instinctive defensiveness. “...but what a shame. I don’t think I'd actually mind if you touched me.”
“Would you think less of me if- I... uh... left a tip?”
“No. I think better of you for asking so politely though.”
Carson fumbled to dig into her pocket, although Ruby rolled her hips for the crowd, it did give Carson just enough room to fist a handful of twenties from her jeans. She hesitantly tucked it with shaking fingers right between Ruby’s breasts.
“Hmm... So you don’t want to touch me. But how about a kiss?”
Shit.
Carson did.
Fuck, she really did want to kiss Ruby. Grubbily groping her on a stage didn’t sit right with Carson, but here between the two of them in the veil of her red hair, the illusion of intimacy set her impulse control on fire.
Carson’s head nodded beyond her own volition, all thoughts gone from her mind. Charlie didn’t matter. Her friends heckling her back at the table didn’t matter. The idea- the lie, that she wasn’t interested in women didn’t matter.
So when Ruby smiled and brushed her lips against Carson’s, Carson rose up into them. Her hands found Ruby’s hips and she kissed the woman and-
Holy shit!
Why did it never feel like this when she kissed her husband! Ruby’s lips were cool water after a lifetime in the desert; Carson’s mind buzzed at the sensation of plump lips, cherry flavoured lip-gloss and a minty tongue that slipped into her mouth. Even the roll of Ruby’s hips in her hands, the pressure in her lap felt different to the taunting dance of before; it was a revelation.
The dancer pulled back, and unless Carson was mistaken, Ruby was as breathless as she was. She licked her lips and her eyes narrowed at Carson in suspicion.
As though she was looking right into Carson’s soul and had found something Carson didn’t know was there.
“Enjoy the rest of your night Carson.”
“Can- uh...”
“Tell me.”
“Can I kiss you again?” Despite the shake of Ruby’s head, she did drop a quick peck to Carson’s lips. “Thank you... for the dance.”
“The pleasure was mine, Carson.” Ruby wiggled her eyebrows and- and she was gone.
Carson was left on a chair, in the middle of the stage at the mercy of the screaming people around her drowning out the fading music. Her hair was a mess, the skin on her chest and throat flushed and when she pressed her lips together to gulp, she felt the sticky mess of lipstick that wasn’t her own.
Damn.
💋
Four years later
Carson huffed at the PowerPoint on her laptop that refused to show up on the data projector screen behind her as the first class of the semester moved into the theatre. Technical difficulties were part and parcel of running a lecture, particularly during the first week.
For the most part, her move to Rockford University was an easy transition and the offer to come in as an associate professor was too good to pass up. Her new colleagues had been helpful and the administration was all straightforward. The commute from Huntley was pretty much the same as it was to her last job, and she found she didn’t see Charlie any less despite his work in remaining in Chicago. He travelled enough for work as it was and honestly... Carson didn’t mind.
It was just convenient.
She loved Charlie.
Although, if she was honest, Carson wasn’t sure why she was still married to him. Because she may love him, but she was far from in love with him.
The problem was that Charlie hadn’t really done anything wrong.
He was still sweet and caring, his absence increasingly easy to live with. Sex with him was- it was fine. Infrequent and just... fine. It was like being with her friend. Comfortable, safe. But a part deep inside Carson was becoming increasingly dissatisfied.
It wasn’t Charlie’s fault that Carson was queer either.
She suspected that Charlie knew; it was something that just sat between them that they didn’t acknowledge. They were best friends, but with him she felt stunted, like a plant in a pot with roots growing out the bottom that nobody noticed until the pot cracked.
Aha!
A jiggle to the HDMI cord plugged into her laptop seemed to work, the data projector flashing blue before it shone the first lecture of English 150 Introduction to Literature onto the white wall behind Carson.
“Nice!” Carson grinned and pumped her fist.
Now she had to wait for the last of the milling students to come in and settle down. She wondered how many of them would last. The first and last lectures were always the fullest classes, but it gave Carson a good view of her students.
There was always a broad range and Carson had learned not to commit names to memory. Particularly not first-years. But there were some she was able to remember. Those with unique features or tattoos, the ones that came to her with learning difficulties or struggled with English.
Mature age students.
And there was one woman in the front row, which was often where they sat. Older students tended to care more and knew not to take the classes for granted. This one must have been Carson’s age, with charming curls of burnt chocolate, tinges of red that matched the shaded lip-gloss she wore. Carson didn’t let her mind go so far as to consider the quiet, almost nervous woman as attractive, but... well, Carson had eyes.
Something niggled in her mind, like she had seen the woman before, maybe in a line for coffee or a bookstore or in an elevator. Oh well. She had seen so many faces over the years, they all blended into each other.
But the way her new student watched with a bite to her lip and a frown kept pulling Carson’s attention back to the front row. Maybe they had met once and the lady was wondering the same thing. The evolving changes in her expression, however, suggested that she had a better memory than Carson did.
“Shall we get started? Nice to see so many on campus this week. My name is Carson Shaw, but please call me Carson...”
💋
As expected, after the first week, there was a significant drop off in attendance for Carson’s lectures. Some students quickly stood out as regular attendees, including the mysterious redhead in the front row that left the class before Carson could catch her.
It wasn’t until the second week that a hand was raised and Carson finally heard the woman speak, and it gave Carson an excuse to ask her name:
Greta.
Which of course was not a common name, so it was easy to find on her course list and take a sneaky look at her student profile. Greta Gill. She was only a year older than Carson, as she had correctly guessed. She was attentive and insightful, although mostly quiet. Her first assignment was graded at 91% by Clance, the grad student Carson had to assist with marking, and Carson agreed with the feedback.
The only other thing Carson could discern from the fleeting opportunities to observe Greta were signs of discomfort towards the end of the long lectures. The wince when Greta rose from her seat and swung her bag onto her shoulder, the stiff gait when she hurried out of class. Then again, Carson understood a sore back as well as anyone their age.
So Carson was surprised to almost crash into Greta when she passed the university’s gym with a charming skip and a shimmy, clad in tights and a singlet top wet with sweat across her chest, Airpods in her ears. Huh, she must do a bit of dancing-
Wait.
Dancing... Red...
Ruby.
Oh fuc-
“Hey Carson!”
“Uh...” Carson blinked rapidly and tried to look anywhere other than at the shining skin before her.
It was her. It had to be.
Her hair was more natural, the curls thicker and shorter. Her entire figure seemed softer and fuller - and still gorgeous - than what Carson remembered, but it was definitely her. Having a stage name made sense. Hell, no wonder Greta had looked at her strangely the first time; she was probably waiting for Carson to work it out.
Greta’s grin was friendly tonight; maybe she assumed that Carson had forgotten? Well, it was a mostly correct assessment. “Do you have any time to go through the draft I emailed you?”
Carson had nobody to go home to tonight, but she did want to talk to Greta. “Sorry! Yes, yeah... Um, I have time now?”
Honestly, Carson hadn’t even looked at her emails for a draft. But she would make time.
Her mind ran rampant as she led Greta towards Scarborough Hall, too engrossed in trying to work out exactly what to say to the student that gave her a hell of a lap dance years ago and unknowingly triggered an epiphany about Carson’s sexuality.
Greta didn’t seem to mind the silence, humming behind Carson and ruffling through her bag as they walked.
It felt dangerous to shut the door behind Greta when they entered her office, but this wasn’t a conversation that Carson wanted anyone else to overhear.
Maybe a little thrilling too.
She wasn’t immune to Greta’s allure, even after all these years. In fact, now that she had connected the dots, there was a reinvigorated pull to Greta, much like when she sat in the chair and let Greta practically tease a response from her. The attraction reignited inside Carson and burned brightly.
She thought about that night plenty of times in the years since. Of her body’s reactions, of- of that kiss... Both of them.
And now it was all Carson could think about.
Carson rubbed at her throat until she was sure it was red, stood in front of her desk and watched Greta throw her bag onto the empty seat through her eyelashes, her eyes cast awkwardly to the floor.
“Ruby...”
Greta’s hands froze, her notebook halfway out of her bag. Carson heard the barely audible, nervous chuckle and ‘fuck’ in the near perfect silence between them.
“I thought I was safe- that you might have forgotten.”
“No. I mean, yes! You are safe with me... I’m not going to go around telling anyone.” She was glad the sudden tension fell from Greta’s shoulders. “But... I mean, it’s not something someone can easily forget.”
Carson let herself relax when Greta shyly smirked, “That’s a compliment, right?”
“Yeah... I knew I’d seen you before, but I just didn’t know where and I really didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Can I sit?”
“Of course,” Carson nodded and opened a hand to the chair before her and the memory of that night, of the chair on the stage, flashed past her mind’s eye. “So English Major?”
“Mm... yeah.” Greta sighed deeply and slipped down lower in her seat. “Had an incident on stage last year. Buck’s party got out of control and I fell off the stage onto my hip. Broke it in two spots and never healed quite right.”
“Shit, Greta- wait. A ‘Buck’s’ party? I thought it was a gay club?"
“‘Diamond’ was. But it didn’t have the crowd to stay open all week. So I had to start dancing in the usual het clubs.”
“Not a fan?”
“I’m a lesbian, Carson; fuck dancing for disgusting, drunk men. But they paid much better and it was six nights a week of really good money. Which turned out to be a good thing when I got hurt. I’m glad I had decent insurance and put so much away. ”
“Damn...”
Greta shrugged with a nonchalance that Carson didn’t believe,
“I’m fine. Mostly. I spent months in bed or with limited mobility, so I started writing to keep me sane, and luckily I was good at it. I enjoy it. So I followed my best friend when she moved out here to be with her girlfriend. I made good money dancing so I had enough to come to uni and pursue writing without a massive debt. But I’ll never be able to dance; nothing so energetic. Not as a job. My body won’t take it; best I can handle is stretching and low-intensity stuff. Which sucks since I moved to New York because I wanted to be a professional dancer in the first place.”
“I remember. You danced like you loved it.”
Greta tucked her chin in, her brow furrowed in gentle shock, “That’s what you remember?”
"Well, a lot of things about that night were memorable.”
“Well I remember you kissing me like you enjoyed it more than a straight, married woman normally would.”
So that was why Greta looked at her that way after their kiss!
“I- uh...”
“Still got that ‘husband’?” Greta curled her fingers in air quotes.
“Yeah, but- okay, you’re right. I know I’m-” Wait, should she even be discussing this with a student? Oh fuck it, it was a unique situation. Greta was her age, they had a history, albeit a brief one. “I am queer. Or even just gay, I don’t know. I know I really like women and once I realised that, I find myself much less attracted to men. But I don’t think my husband really cares- or he knows, but he just... ignores it."
"That's pretty shitty of him. I don't understand how you're happy with that."
"I'm not unhappy. But- okay, maybe. I could be happier. But I didn't realise until that night. It started with you. That I could feel... more. Much more.”
Greta grinned, clearly pleased, and licked her lips. Suddenly, the situation had an air of danger again... and Carson felt guilty for liking it. The heat of attraction seemed to crackle between them, and it very obviously went both ways.
“I thought so.”
“That obvious?"
"It was to me. Then you asked me to kiss you again and I knew you wanted something.”
It was true. Greta’s name and body of four years had faded in Carson’s mind, but the way she made Carson feel, the realisation that she was attracted to women lingered, that was what clung to Carson's memory. And now Greta was back in front of her and Carson felt much more confident in her sexuality... Carson found herself wanting her.
“I... I did. I wanted to.”
The way Greta narrowed her eyes was both terrifying and thrilling. But Carson lost all coherence to the conversation when Greta pushed off the chair and stepped closer. In fact her mind was quite blank.
“And now?” Carson swallowed, or tried to, when Greta leaned closer. Just like last time, Carson felt the magnetic pull, when the tip of Greta's nose teased her own. Carson was aware of Greta's fingers touching her desk beside her hips. “Maybe I’ll let you kiss me again.”
Surely Carson wasn’t that special? She had held onto her chair like a scared teen that night. She didn’t tip Greta that much. Greta had been dancing in New York for years; she was gorgeous, she had her pick of whoever she wanted to take home. Carson was a nobody that night.
“But I didn't even touch you? And it was just a kiss."
Greta pulled back, "'Just?'"
"I mean... I assumed you let other people do more to you-"
Greta’s reaction was faster than Carson’s ability to realise what she said, and the hard shove to her chest that knocked her back onto her desk was a further shock to her system.
“Wha-”
“You know, you’re a real asshole, Professor Shaw. Just because I danced for you, doesn’t make me a slut. And no, I don’t go around kissing just anyone.”
“But...”
“You can get fucked.” Greta hissed at her, grabbed her bag and threw open the office door, disappearing before Carson could draw her next breath. She was frozen in place, only catching Greta’s “...unbelievable! Four fucking years...” fade down the hall outside.
What the hell just happened?
💋